


kawaii tmbg slashfic uguu~! uwu flower emoji.txt

by AceyEnn



Category: They Might Be Giants
Genre: Crack Fic, F/M, Incest, M/M, Multi, Parody, Shitty in-jokes, Vintage-style TMBG slashfic, teh yaoiz xD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-22
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-08-10 07:23:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7835434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceyEnn/pseuds/AceyEnn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A totally 100% in-character examination of the TRU LUV between John Linnell and John Flansburgh.</p>
<p>A collaborative effort.</p>
            </blockquote>





	kawaii tmbg slashfic uguu~! uwu flower emoji.txt

**Author's Note:**

> Authors involved:  
> Me (Tumblr user damaramegido)  
> Britt (Tumblr user kishona and also my girlfriend)  
> Ray (Tumblr user ratpatrol)  
> Fio (Tumblr user plasmacandle)  
> Amber (Tumblr user disinvited-guest)
> 
> Britt did most of the original draft. The rest of us just added to it.
> 
> There are a number of stupid in-jokes in here, so feel free to ask for explanations!
> 
> Also: This is a work of satire. Please don't get angry at us, TMBG. We love you.

John Flansburgh and John Linnell found themselves in unusual circumstances. Well, as uncreative of circumstances as this writer could come up with, in classic terrible TMBG slashfic fashion. They were somewhere stereotypical for one of these stories, such as a dressing room or a trailer or a tour bus or a shared apartment or bedroom or whatever half-baked effort of a setting the writer could come up with in order to get to teh yaoiz as soon as possible. It was definitely somewhere with one (1) cushy furniture object and one (1) hard flat surface. For, y’know.

 

Simply put, Flans and Linnell have some _feels_. Some _feels_ they had held latent in their being for the entire duration of the time they have known each other. Even though they have known each other for well over 30 years now, it had only now just occurred to them the possibility of some… _gay thoughts_. And boy, were they pretty gay all right. And clearly out of nowhere. And just for the record, these were not the writer’s projected emotions onto them or anything like that; this is how they _really_ felt.

 

Flans lay across the aforementioned cushy sofa or something, I do not really know, messing around with a guitar because he plays those right (but left-handed) and sort of acting uninterested in the other man across the room from him even though he was _really really really_ interested indeed. Sexually interested, that is. In a gay way. Linnell glanced over at him shyly, for some reason as awkward as a schoolgirl with a crush on her professor even though for goodness’ sake they have known each other longer than most people have known their own parents.

 

Linnell could not help but notice just how _sexy_ Flans was, again all of the sudden, laying there all sprawled out like some kind of rock demigod. He was really just… the sexiest. He was starting to feel the _lust_ , and Flans knew it too. He even felt the same about Linnell. Again, these were definitely their true feelings and not the writer’s at all. I cannot stress enough how sexy Flans looks, though. But Flans would not dare make the first move, because that is what the typical reader of these fics expects to happen. We are shaking up things a bit.

 

A part of Linnell wished that these sudden gay thoughts had come to his mind before they got so _old_. Apparently, they were all old and wrinkly now and for some reason that takes away from their attractiveness even though their age has nothing to do with the fact that they are and have always been super creative, intelligent, and talented. They were just old now, like, in their 50s or something, and to any tween, teen, or young adult writing one of these fics, that is like _absolutely ancient_. Anyway, back to the sudden gay awakening. (A gaywakening, if you will. [Or perhaps an agaykening.])

 

Flans wished these elusive and definitely never-before-felt gay thoughts had come before he had gotten so _fat_. For some reason, the writer feels the need to mention that Flans is very big, a big important man. It also does not matter than he is creative, smart, and talented and has an excellent voice and a knack for most things. Flans is still attractive, just as he was when the band was first exploding onto the New York art scene, but unfortunately, as you know, people age, so he did not look exactly the same as he did in 1982. He was still cute, at least to Linnell anyway, but he was not as cute as he used to be. Old and cute, but less cute. He has got a bit of a belly now, so that is a problem apparently. No worries though, teh yaoiz will happen anyway.

 

At this point, the reader might be wondering where their wives are. Who? Oh yeah, the women to whom these clearly suddenly gay men (since bisexuals are just the kinds of things parents make up horror stories about to tell their kids, along the lines of those stories about angels, unicorns, and elves) are married. Well, they were off watching some kind of chick flick in the attic, so they are out of the way. It was either _Nights in Rodanthe_ or _Love Actually_ , because once you are old and married you could only watch movies about other old people in love. Wait a second, they are in the attic? An attic in this tour bus trailer dressing room? Yes, and do not dare question it again or I swear you will atone for your thought crimes. All right, do you really want to know what the wives are doing? Really? Are you sure? Trust me, you do not.

 

Anyway, let us get to the shitty banter and then straight on to the porn. You are about to read things that both John Flansburgh and John Linnell, the founding members of popular cult band They Might Be Giants, would not be caught dead saying. Or would die before saying these things. In these particular tones. To each other. Anyway, you are still about to bear literary witness to it, and I am not going to apologize.

 

“Flans?” Linnell started the conversation, even though it is pretty clear that the Johns refer to one another by their first names in reality, I mean have you ever heard an interview with either of them. (For all intents and purpose, please ignore their 2009 interview with NY1 in which Linnell calls his bandmate “Flansy.” First of all, because it is cuter than anything that I could come up with. Second of all, because it is an exception to the rule. Okay. Resume slash.)

 

“Yeah, Linny?” Flans answered, again using a weird made up nickname that neither of them ever uses in actual reality, but this one is even less common than the abbreviated Flansburgh, unless you were a TMBG fan on LiveJournal in like 2005.

 

“I’ve been having some… _thoughts_ , lately,” Linnell continued, as if it were odd for an intelligent, talented musician to have those. He began to fidget with his _long thin fingers_ , or something coy, stupid, and uncharacteristic like that.

 

“Oh really?” Flans answered, setting down his guitar somewhere where it will not get in the way of the inevitable activities later and sitting up in his seat.

 

“Yeah. It’s all of the sudden occurred to me, after having been in a band with you for 34 years, that I’m beginning to feel a certain… _way_ , around you,” Linnell confessed.

 

“It’s funny you say that, because I was about to say the same thing,” Flans also confessed, a Cheshire grin spreading across his literally catlike face. Surprise, it is also furries.

 

“I think you’re really _sexy_ ,” Linnell added, standing up from his seat, wherever it was, a chair, maybe some different couch, you do not really care so I will not bother to elaborate.

 

“I know you do…” Flans trailed off, opening his arms as invitation for Linnell to join him on that random couch, “I feel the same.”

 

“I wish we had done this before we got so _old_ …” Linnell added, and Flans rolled his eyes because he does not really dwell on death as much as Linnell does, a fact that is clearly well established canon by this point.

 

“Oh boo hoo,” Flans teased him, still waiting for the scrawnier man to get his scaly reptilian ass on over there and get teh yaoiz started on up. (Ass means butt.)

 

Without another random passing comment about Flans’ weight, Linnell crashed into Flans’ arms. Both grown men somehow situated themselves on a tiny couch (probably) and knew they had to get busy before the reader got bored and moved onto _Impulse Squared_ or _They Might Be Desperate_ or some other fucked up TMBG fic we do not know a lot about.

 

“But what if Whatserface and Whatsername find out...” Linnell mumbled, straddling Flans on this randomass couch, Flans’ fat hands on Linnell’s skeletal hips.

 

“Who?”

 

“Our wives. The women we married. The women we said vows to in a public ceremony. I think they have names but I do not care, it is yaoi time so screw them. Except not, because that would be decidedly heterosexual and not gay.”

 

Flans simply shook his head. Linnell already broke rule number one of teh yaoiz, but it is okay because as long as the _reader_ is not thinking about it any further, nobody needs to get hurt. You got that, reader. You better not be thinking about those Wives™, I already warned you and I will give you only one more chance to push that thought out of your mind and enjoy the bad porn.

 

Anyway, carrying on with the porn and no more shitty dialogue because it is tiresome for both the lazy writer and the reader who is looking for a lil something-something. Linnell wrapped his arms around Flans’ shoulders and they leaned close, their lips finally meeting in a sloppy, moist, honestly clumsy movement that had been over three decades coming. Remember, neither of them knows how to kiss because their marriages have been 100% platonic thus far.

 

Flans’ hands creeped up and down Linnell’s waist until it settled at the bottom hem of his shirt. He pulled the fabric up and over the other man’s head, until his bare chest was exposed. Soon, the larger man began to work on his own clothes, taking off a suit jacket or maybe some sort of sports coat or maybe even a cardigan off his shoulders and unbuttoning his shirt.

 

Whenever Flans finished up with that, Linnell pressed closer to him, their bare chests touching, scale upon fur upon scale upon whiskers as they both continued to keep their lips together the entire time. Finally, they broke the kiss, their hands in whatever place was most convenient before trailing them up and into one another’s hair. Too many years of wondering what that would feel like.

 

Once they had both gotten enough of feeling up each other’s follicles and their tongues ‘battling one another for dominance,’ whatever the _fuck_ that means, Flans and Linnell both paused, suddenly feeling something unfamiliar in their trousers. Like, even though both of them have wives, none of them has any idea what is going on. The writer is completely serious; they want you to believe that.

 

Anyway, they have boners now. Neither of them even had to see a Tiddy™ first. Shifting awkwardly in Flans’ lap, Linnell soon figured out what he had to do. Dropping to his knees in front of Flans, Linnell ‘freed his erection’ from its tighty-whitey prison and Flans soon followed suit. Now there are dicks in the fic, I repeat, we have reached the penis exposure tier.

 

Before Linnell was about to do the obvious thing one does in that position, which is sucking a penis, Flans suddenly placed a hand on Linnell’s forehead, stopping him from popping that thing up on into his mouth like it was a _sudden obligatory coffee reference_. Linnell looked up at Flans, mouth still agape, a questioning look on his fanged face.

 

“Linny, wait,” Flans whined, panting in stunted anticipation, his other arm across his own face in a different sense of embarrassment, as though he were taking a nap in his childhood home.

 

“What, Flans?” Linnell answered; disappointed that he was prevented from carrying on with this thing he just got an impulse to do the first time in his life today.

 

“We can’t go on with this, we’re…we’re cousins!” Flans said, adding a completely weird and out of nowhere incest aspect to this already unsalvageable fic. Maybe they are third cousins once removed or something, if that makes you feel any better about this sickening plot twist. That said, carry on, dear reader.

 

“I knew that already.”

 

“What?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Oh.” Their sudden blood relation no longer mattered--their boners were simply too hard and sexy to care.

 

“Yeah… So can I, like...?”

 

“Huh?”

 

“Can I go on with the…well; can I pretend that your Willy is the straw from a Starbucks™ Venti Double-Caff Fappuccino?” Yes, that was an intentional pun, and yes, the author knows that the word “fap” refers to masturbation rather than oral sex. The author does not give a fuck. You are not reading this in the hopes of a story that makes _sense._

 

But nobody got to decide anything about the imminent blowjob. Suddenly, a _GIRL_ , a _GIRL_ with A Illness, entered the dressing room tour bus trailer place. Who is this mysterious, asthmatic _GIRL_ , you might ask? Or not? Well, if you are the writer, she is definitely a self-insert. If you are reading this unironically, she is _you_. If you _are_ reading this ironically, she is absolutely obviously the writer’s self-insert.

 

This involved a _GIRL_ now, and the tone of the fic changed entirely, probably becoming a little less yaoitastic. Everything became suddenly cryptic, the point of view now from the _GIRL_ ’s past perspective. She remembered the night she disturbingly snuck into They Might Be Giants’ tour bus. She was only 18 or 21 or 33 or whatever significantly younger but legal age she had to be for this shit, idk, and idc.

 

She remembered the older men who stared at her with blank expressions, all at once wondering who the hell this chick was and hoping that their wives hadn’t heard the door swing open from the attic. They seemed shy, but were then forward; because that is a reasonable reaction to some random lady you have never met before. To first _innocently flirt_ with her, followed by a _passionate wrestling match_.

 

As a wise woman once said, he stuck his thingy in her you know what and they did it for the first time. Then, he stuck his other thingy into her you know where and they did that too. And then he stuck his thingy in him, he stuck his thingy in him; they stuck their thingies in and around each other’s thingies in every combination. The fic stopped being even remotely gay at this point, for as an equally wise man once said, it’s not gay if it’s in a three-way.

 

Her story was believed. As soon as all of that was over, the _GIRL_ disappeared from existence forever because her only purpose was to serve as a vessel for even more projected emotions. Or maybe she tried to kill them both, because that is a thing that happens. Not to worry though, she got her period sometime after that night or something so no preggo scares because I just know that was your biggest concern after reading this story. Also the _GIRL_ wasn’t related to either of them at all, which I cannot believe is a thing I have to clarify, but you never can tell when the TMBG slashfic fandom is such a monstrous thing.

 

In truth, though, the _GIRL_ had died, and the writer had lied to you. She died tragically after being hit by the tour bus. Did I mention that someone had been driving the bus the whole time? Well, someone had been driving the bus the whole time, and you’re going to have to live with this information okay. Marty was managing the gas and brake pedals, given his years of practice on the bass drum, and intrepid guitarist Dan Miller of Brooklyn-based alternative rock band They Might Be Giants gripped the steering wheel between his two calloused, vein-covered hands. Hot, am I right?

 

Also yes, I decided that they were definitely on a tour bus, so if you were imagining any other sort of scenario get those thoughts out of your head. Yes, there is still an attic. It’s a nice bus, okay? Hell, Flans can afford it.

 

After a while, Johns Flansburgh and Linnell got up took turns taking a shower or something, and tried to pretend nothing happened. Sitting on the same couch without regard for cleaning anything first, they went back to distracting themselves with their musical instruments in a shockingly non-sexual manner, because they are just that one-dimensional. It was not long before they fell asleep where they sat.

 

They were exhausted, and now there was a promise of many more random nights of gay sex and invasive but sexy (or, perhaps, S-E-X-X-Y) stalkers to come. They had proved themselves… _physically stronger_ and emotionally stronger than they looked. They had to be, if this was the sort of shit random people on the internet wrote about them all of the time.

 

The Flans was snoring and so was Linnell, a nap worthy of the weirdest and least realistic night ever. Now stripped of their virginities—yes, both of them were virgins prior to this encounter. In fact, some have speculated that [Linnell’s son] is the second coming of Jesus Christ because Linnell _NEVER_ fucked his wife and she was also a virgin too. Nevertheless, they would have to find new and more _exotic_ ways to spice up their newfound spontaneous sex lives. That could mean anything, but it does not matter. In fact, nothing matters. You will still read it.

 

All was well… until of the sudden, a door swung open! Jerking the men from their slumber (where they had been dreaming, coincidentally, of jerking other things, like cocks), it was their beloved bassist, Danny. Danny’s sleep senses were tingling, and if anywhere in his proximity people were sleeping, he was going to involve himself God dammit. It was, after all, his most defining trait, as would be obvious to any longtime fan of TMBG. Instead, he was shocked at the apparent… _intimacy_ of the scene that lay before him, and therefore inquired just what the hell was going on.

 

“Just what the hell are you doing, you motherfuckers?!” he inquired, with his usual sensitivity. He began to kick at the ribs of both men, his beloved bosses, until they awoke.

 

Danny turned to his love, pointing an accusatory finger. “I thought you loved me!” he screamed in his Weinkauf way. Both Johns looked at each other and drew their firearms. They kept guns on their persons at all times, even when nude somehow. Only now did they discover that no one could be trusted, not even themselves.

 

Two shots rang out, along with the screams of two men named John. And then silence.

 

And, following that, a horrendous crashing as Dan and Marty crashed the tour bus into a pylon. There were no survivors, save for the zombie corpse of self-insert _GIRL_. She doesn’t count, for she, the self-insert, is immortal, doomed to be written over and over again by fanfic writers for centuries to come. Them’s the breaks.

 

This is stupid.

 

You are welcome.


End file.
